


The Morning Brightens

by Odamaki



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Coming Out, Fluff, Gundam Wing Pride 2020, M/M, Pillow Talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:35:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25022491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Odamaki/pseuds/Odamaki
Summary: “Penny for your thoughts?”The whisper comes out a little cracked, but Wufei unclenches his jaw and untangles his grip from his other hand.“I thought you were asleep,” he says.“I wasn’t,” Quatre admits, with a wry smile. “You’re thinking very loudly.”Wufei expresses a sigh and lets his head thump back into the pillow. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
Relationships: Chang Wufei/Quatre Raberba Winner
Comments: 10
Kudos: 19





	The Morning Brightens

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Gundam Wing Pride 2020 :) Happy Pride everyone!

Quatre pushes his cheek into the pillows but still cannot sleep. The night air trickles through the curtains, kissing over the bare hump of his shoulder, bringing with it the smell of evening primrose. By Quatre’s best guess, it’s late enough to be approaching the middle-of-the-night sunrise characteristic of being this far north. 

But it’s not the shortness of night that’s troubling him. 

The other side of the mattress is dipped from the weight of Wufei’s body, and the warmth of him permeates into the bedclothes; a solid comfort that Quatre is long used to. Wufei habitually goes to sleep on his back, laid out neatly with his hands folded on his belly, seeming funereal until deep sleep settles over him and his chin falls into the hollow of his own shoulder, giving him an air of contrition. 

Sleep is evading both of them tonight, however. Wufei is breathing deeply, with the regular long inward rush of air and the gust of the exhalation - in through the nose, out through the mouth, but the meditation clearly isn’t working. The tension pours from him across the mattress, washing up on the length of Quatre’s spine in an unpleasant, slow throb of static. 

Quatre blinks into the dark until his vision adjusts to blue shadows, and then he rolls over. Wufei grunts, startled out of concentration by the movement, though he remains still. It’s only when Quatre slides a hand over his that Wufei opens his eyes. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” 

The whisper comes out a little cracked, but Wufei unclenches his jaw and untangles his grip from his other hand. 

“I thought you were asleep,” he says. 

“I wasn’t,” Quatre admits, with a wry smile. “You’re thinking very loudly.”

Wufei expresses a sigh and lets his head thump back into the pillow. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.” 

“I know,” Quatre replies, lightly. He walks his fingers under Wufei’s and between them, squeezing his hand. “I could hear you trying to breathe it out. Is it something serious?” 

“No,” Wufei says, at once and then tsks and sits up. “A stupid thing from years ago just got my head working on something and I can’t shelve it. Get some sleep. I might as well get up and stop depriving us both of some rest.” 

Quatre pushes himself onto his elbow, tweaking Wufei’s hand before he can get up. “Is it anything I could help with?” 

The bedclothes have fallen into Wufei’s lap and he regards their hands for a moment before speaking. “I didn’t intend to bring it up yet; I haven’t made any decisions, but it does involve you.” The tension creeps back into Wufei’s body and he doesn’t meet Quatre’s eye when he finally says, “I may need to come out at work.”

The statement makes Quatre temporarily stupid from the surprise of it, but instinct tightens his hand and that gives him enough presence of mind to lean across Wufei and flick on the lamp. Wufei squints at the sudden brightness, his mouth turned down at the corners. 

“Did something happen?” Quatre asks. He pushes his hair out of his eyes and examines Wufei for evidence of tragedy, but can’t find anything he’s not already aware of. Time has been kind to both of them; Wufei still looks young for his age, though it’s become easier to see the lines in his brow and at the edges of his mouth. He nudges Quatre’s hand from his cheek and shakes his head. 

“No, nothing in particular. Nothing new. I was struck by a thought earlier… and now I’m questioning if I’ve been remiss by keeping this part of myself so completely segregated from my job.” 

‘Remiss’ is not a word that gives Quatre any comfort about this sudden change of tune. Despite being the taller of them now, he deliberately contorts to look up into Wufei’s eyes. “This all sounds like it should be positive, habibi, but…I can tell when you’re unhappy.” 

Wufei clicks his tongue, simultaneously touched at being read so easily and irked by it as he always is, and is swayed by the endearment towards being pleased. As he always is. Quatre smiles and scooches into the crook of Wufei’s body. “You can’t hide it from me. I always know.” 

“It’s doubly annoying when you’re smug about it,” Wufei tells him, but he leans back against the headboard and moves his arm to allow Quatre to come closer, so he can’t be that annoyed. 

Quatre shifts a foot in between Wufei’s and listens to the beat of Wufei’s heart through his chest. “My soul knows yours,” he says, simply. 

Wufei scoffs and grumbles, “When will you stop using your wedding vows against me?” The words are muffled, spoken into the crown of Quatre’s head and carry no weight at all. Quatre presses the palm of one hand against Wufei’s sternum, feeling the static of his partner’s emotions in the whole of his arm. Sometimes, Quatre thinks, it’s almost as though he can see them flowing through them both and leaping the gap between bodies like chemicals across a synapse. 

He maintains a judicious silence until Wufei finally says aloud, “I don’t want to do it.” 

Quatre tilts his face up, and watches as the background anger in Wufei melts away into more genuine unease. It never quite ceases to surprise him - that Wufei can be both overflowing with direct confidence, and yet also so full of worry. Quatre smiles again, against Wufei’s arm so that he can feel it, as a means of saying that he’s there. 

One shoulder shrugged higher than the other, Wufei says, “I don’t want to drag you into my professional concerns. I like how things are - our privacy. I don’t want the questions.” 

Or the teasing, Quatre thinks. He doesn’t disagree with Wufei’s concerns, and he has a similar need to have a space in life which the world does not invade. Yet for Wufei, the need has always been based on more than that. “You don’t have to protect me,” Quatre reminds him. “My reputation will survive.” 

“Don’t underestimate it. You’ve been secretly married so long, the news would blow the gossip mills out the water,” Wufei points out, dourly. “We’d never hear the end of it. I can’t shoot another paparazzo in the ass.”

“You could. I fully support the reflexive stapling of intruders if they’re silly enough to leap into my office while you’re there to manfully defend me.” 

Wufei scowls at him and pulls a lock of his hair, not enough to hurt. “It wasn’t ‘reflexive’. That makes it sound like I panicked. And you shouldn’t leave heavy-duty staplers lying around if you don’t want me to use them.”

“If you say so,” Quatre replies. “I wonder who pulled the staple out for him.” 

“Someone worthy of my full condolences. Anyway,” Wufei retorts, but he trails off after that. Quatre rubs his chest to distract him, and to buff out the static of fear welling out of him. It is partially fear, after all, that drives this need for self-censure. The world has had a hideous track   
record of finding the things Wufei cares for most and allowing other people to annihilate them. Wufei stashes everything tender in his life within the carefully concealed boundaries of their relationship, burying them as fast as he gets them, as if he’s seen the smoke of pillage on the horizon. The logic of that isn’t alien to Quatre either. 

Besides, it’s not been a hardship to keep their relationship close to home. Both of them were raised in environments where overt public affection between spouses isn’t considered polite, and it doesn’t feel unnatural to keep it inside the home. Their respective jobs are busy - so much so that the effort of dating is a turn off. Where others would find it dull, the idea of an evening together alone within familiar walls has always been highly appealing. And they have the vacations, of course. Twice a year, minimum; Eid, always in the desert, even in the blistering years of a summer Eid - and then New Year, with two days spent according to the demands of friends, always preceded by a trip out to the Estate for two of them alone, filling out the final days of each year with self-indulgence. 

It’s been good. 

“I admit, it would mean a lot of upheaval,” Quatre says, mulling it over. “And the people who matter to us already know.” 

Which is no small number, come to it, Quatre reflects. Though they’ve taken pains to be discrete in the public eye, with some 40 Maganacs and their families, Sally, Relena, Duo, Heero, Trowa, a selection of Quatre’s sisters, and the assorted essential peripherals amongst staff, enough people are in the know to fill a banqueting hall should they ever wish to. 

“Why did you say ‘remiss’?” Quatre asks, his thoughts circling back to that one sticking point. 

Wufei doesn’t answer right away, his gaze tracking something unseen above them. Memories, perhaps. Pensive, he says, “It’s not one specific thing, exactly. I just started wondering if…If I’d been out, if other staff may have persevered more.” 

Quatre considers it and runs into a blank. “I’m not following.” 

“I said something flippant to Sally about there being so many women getting promoted in Preventer these days. I implied it was because the whole show was run by women.” He pauses here to frown, “No, I wasn’t being sexist-”

“I didn’t say you were.” 

“Hmm. I wasn’t. It was just a comment. Anyway, it seems there’s a trend for women to cross over from the civilian forces at a certain level. According to Sally, there’s an issue of hostile culture in upper management over there that makes Preventer a magnetic draw for them in comparison. We’re poaching talent in droves, it seems.”

“I suppose most people don’t want to pioneer through a difficult situation if there’s a ready alternative, so it makes sense. If they’re achieving promotion in Preventer, then it’s not as if the raw capability was lacking.” 

“Mm,” Wufei agrees. “Sally thinks it’s a matter of optimism as well. These crossover hires see women at the top and realise that it’s achievable, so they work hard with that security and the hope that they can accomplish as much.” 

“She’s probably quite right about that,” Quatre says, lightly. “And?” 

Wufei rolls towards him, expression sober. “Sally speaks perfect Mandarin. She was born and raised in former China, so she’s at least as much Asian as I am; she just doesn’t look it. I went through our comparative inter-departmental transfer applications - I’ve had twice as many from people of colour than she has. She’s had significantly more female applicants. And that’s internal applications alone; a self-selecting sample.”

“And?” Quatre prompts again. 

“And I never knew it. I never thought there could be any effect based on my simply existing in the job. …It would have made a difference, wouldn’t it? If I’d been promoted with people knowing I was in a same-sex relationship.” 

Quatre feels out the shape of the problem, and discovers it’s not so new to them after all. Wufei’s got some memory he’s not disclosing either, turning it about secretly, like a pebble in his pocket. Quatre can well imagine it; though. As much as he loves Wufei, the man has a bad habit of trampling on other people’s feelings when he’s got his mind set on the bigger picture, or his own concerns. There had been a period of rocky months some time back, when Preventer was growing, and going through the pains of it. 

“Of course it would have made a difference to someone,” Quatre says, because it’s a truth and Wufei wants to hear it said. “It may have encouraged someone without confidence in their sexuality, and it may equally have upset someone who hates people like us and they may have caused trouble. But you’re not to feel guilty about that. It wasn’t cowardice, when you didn’t want to disclose it. We had no idea if this was ever even going to work.” 

Wufei grunts. He’s listening but Quatre realises he’s only hit upon the one side of the problem, and sits up, suddenly inspired. “It’s not your fault you weren’t confident with your sexuality either. You couldn’t have lead other people along that journey when you were still unpacking it yourself. And you can’t turn back time, so don’t think of it as being ‘remiss’.” 

Straight-talking Wufei out of his glum moods is a lesson Quatre has learned from close friends, and which took him a while to master. It rings a quiet note of satisfaction in him when the tension drops a little from Wufei’s shoulders. 

He pulls a wry face and asks, “So I have your permission not to beat myself up over it?” 

“My insistence,” Quatre corrects, “and my sincere request that you firmly tell me all the reasons I’m not to blame either, once I’ve thought about it some more and convinced myself that I am.” 

Wufei snorts. “No need to ask me that, you neurotic disaster.” 

“Pot, kettle,” Quatre tells him. 

“That I am guilty of,” Wufei agrees. He exhales and glances towards the window, which has lit the curtains now from behind and poked a finger of pale light between them onto the floor. He turns off the lamp, and makes them both aware of how much the morning has arrived. 

“What do we do now?” he asks. 

“Do you want to come out?”

“Yes. No. Not entirely, but… Yes. Maybe it’s time.”

Quatre puts his hand on his own chest and communes with the whirligig of anxiety that’s usually right there within reach, and finds that it’s smaller and quieter than he expected. “Do it then,” he says. “We’ll figure out the politics of my position later. Honestly…” honestly? Honestly, it would be a relief not to have to wiggle out of answering questions. Quatre thinks of lonely events surrounded by couples. 

“I don’t have to tell them it’s you I’m with,” Wufei points out. He pushes his hair back and rubs the ball of his thumb in one eye. “I wasn’t planning on throwing a parade.” 

Quatre laughs. “Oh, no, please do. Walk through the doors banging a gong. I’ll buy you a megaphone and a cape.”

“Idiot.” 

The slight bounces off of Quatre without impact, and he’s already thinking ahead about other things. “I suppose rather than any kind of announcement, we could just let people become aware of- oh! Wait, I have something.” 

Quatre scrambles from the bed, hurrying over to rummage in the wardrobe, in and around his cufflinks and watches. “Where did I? Oh, maybe in the office…” 

Wufei watches as Quatre trots out the room, the morning kissing down his back as he goes, but he has no idea what Quatre’s up to. He hears the other man open the door to the home office, and then the soft clunking as he opens a series of cupboards and drawers. There is the brief jingle of keys, which interests Wufei because the only object in there which still requires a physical key is the antique bureau, which Quatre keeps for aesthetic reasons. It’s full of what Wufei teasingly calls ‘Quatre’s rubbish’; the emotional ephemera of old birthday cards, music scores, ribbons from gifts, photographs, a bullet casing from Heavyarms, a pink pinion feather from god knows where, the menu from the first awkward dinner they’d eaten out. 

Quatre returns, the sunshine making his hair appear to glow. He has one hand behind his back as he hops back onto the bed. 

“Don’t laugh,” he warns. “And don’t say I’m ridiculous, even though it really is.” 

“What is it?” 

Quatre rubs his forehead, a touch embarrassed. “After you proposed, I got a little enthusiastic and ordered rings, before we actually talked about it.” He chuckles and offers Wufei a black velvet case on the palm of his hand. “And I realised you’d never be able to wear one what with being on active duty.”

To say that Wufei is surprised is an understatement. He opens the box and raises his eyebrows. It’s yellow gold, matte and gleaming, and surprisingly delicate. 

“I didn’t think you’d want anything flashy.” 

“I don’t know what to say.”

“‘I do’?” Quatre suggests. 

“I did.” Wufei slips the ring from the case and onto the tip of his finger. The band falls easily to the knuckle and he pushes it on the rest of the way like he’s plugging in an unknown device. It sits snugly at the base of his finger, the gold shining warmly against his skin. “Thank you.” 

“You could wear it on office days.” 

Wufei nods, still absorbed in the details of how it looks on his finger, and the newness of wearing jewellery. He looks up suddenly. “Do you want one? I mean-” he cuts off, flushing. “If you want, we could get another ring for you.” 

Quatre makes a self-conscious noise. “Remember when I said ‘don’t call me ridiculous’? I may have already bought one that… matches.” 

Wufei’s look of fond exasperation and faint indignation makes Quatre cover his face and laugh, until Wufei tugs him back into the pillows with a growl and squashes him; his own brand of affection, that. 

“You’re impossible,” Wufei tells him, once he’s satisfied that Quatre’s fully rumpled and giggling. Quatre can only feel the ring against his cheek when Wufei’s hand slides down towards his neck, and he smiles, a big golden dope of a smile. 

“What?” Wufei demands. 

Quatre presses a kiss up onto Wufei’s cheek and says, “I just realised that my husband wants to be a role model. And I’m very proud of him.”  
  
“Oh fuck off,” Wufei says against Quatre’s laugh, through a kiss, and winks using the wedding band and the path of the sun. 


End file.
